Last Mistake
by True Heaven
Summary: In the end, they had made their choices. In the end, they had chosen who they would be, where they would be, and who they would be with. But in the end, life isn't ever that simple, is it?


**Disc****laimer: **No, I do NOT own the Harry Potter franchise. If I did, I'd be filthy rich, and I'm not. _  
_

So.. I don't really know why I wanted to write something like this. I guess it was all the "what ifs" that Rowling had (intentionally? unintentionally?) placed in the series. I even remember an interview of her stating that certain moments between Harry and Hermione were "charged". I completely agree. And to be honest, I do actually prefer Harry with Hermione.

That's not to say anything bad about Ron. I'm fond of his character as well. But I apologize if I've written him off as a bit of a poo.

Anyways, without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

-Ria

P.S. You'll notice, in here, a few parallel/similar moments with the books and/or the movies. Can you find them all? ;D

* * *

"_Harry – you're a great wizard, you know."_

The emerald-eyed man exhaled in frustration, throwing his glasses off and pulling at his dark hair. "Yeah.. a _great_ wizard," he muttered under his breath, words laced with the poison he could feel pumping through his veins.

He wondered where it all went wrong after all of it seemed to go so right for so long. Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Had he made the wrong choices in life? Heaven knows he probably had; at least a few, probably many more. Leaning back in his chair, Harry crossed his arms, face to the ceiling, and sifted through his thoughts, searching. Searching for the exact moment when everything fell apart.

* * *

Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat. An apologetic smile crossed his features as he stumbled on his feet, trying in vain to remember the dance steps that had been taught to him during his fourth year at Hogwarts. He stared at the ground, at his own two feet; how was it that these feet, so reliable, so quick, so agile – feet that carried him across fields and battlegrounds – could be so damn clumsy now? "Sorry..." he trailed off as he stepped on his dance partner's high-heeled foot. He laughed nervously.

"Harry, it's okay," Hermione said, throwing her head back in laughter. She gripped his left hand tighter as he tried to correct his steps. "You really are terrible at dancing."

"I know," he responds, joining the sounds of her chuckles in complete harmony. Harry can't help but look at Hermione tonight. Stare, actually, would be a better word for it. He knows many in the room who are as guilty as he. The white fabric of her gown shimmered softly under the starry lights (courtesy of the enchanted ceiling) and strands of her curled, brown hair framed her lovely face.

"I suppose I look rather ugly now, don't I? This reception's gone on for too long and I haven't had the chance to go touch up or-"

"I've never thought you were ugly," he says, bemused and the corners of Hermione's lips pull up.

There are no words spoken for the rest of their dance. There wasn't any need. As their song died away and a new one began, he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face. Moments short of placing that hand back on her waist, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"Mind if I take over, mate?"

"She's all yours." Harry placed Hermione's gloved hand into Ron's. Hermione gave him a smile as he handed her over to her husband. He stepped off the dance floor and back to his seat where Ginny tiredly placed her head on his shoulder.

Harry spent the rest of the night watching the newly-wed couple, his two best friends, dance under the stars.

* * *

Harry was headed down the halls of the Ministry when he heard a familiar voice beckon him.

"Hey!" Hermione called, running towards him, her face partially hidden behind a stack of levitating papers. "Have you gone for lunch yet? Oh, of course you haven't, you busy Auror! Would you like to go?"

Harry had no chance to respond properly before she had grabbed his hand and sped-walked towards the exit. He looked behind him to find her stack of papers now floating in front of a scraggly looking young man who he remembered to be her assistant.

The pair made their way through the streets before settling on a cafe. It was a brilliantly sunny day and as such, many people decided to take their lunches outside to bathe in the warmth. They grabbed a table under a large pinstriped umbrella and ordered their food. Harry noticed Hermione seemed a bit more... excited than usual.

"So..." he started, peering over his coffee cup to look at her. He raised an eyebrow when he saw her hands gripping the sides of the table and a wide grin plastered on her face. "Uh.."

"Oh, Harry! I'm just so- so _happy!_"

He smiled. Her mood was contagious. It wiped away any traces of fatigue from his body.

"What, did you liberate more house elves? Finally read all the books at the library? Manage to produce food that isn't charred?" She threw breadcrumbs at him for his last question.

"No, I... Well.. I should just say it! Harry, I'm pregnant!"

He spat his coffee back into its cup. "W-what?"

"I'm pregnant!" she repeated, finally releasing the table from her grip.

"Hermione... That's great!" He set his cup down and watched her nod her head. "Does Ron know?"

"No, you're the only one I've told. I had to tell you first!"

Harry didn't speak for a while, only smiled. "Well... you're planning on telling the father, aren't you?"

"Of course... Just... Well, I'm kind of nervous. I've been trying to think of all the ways I could tell him, you know, at dinner. None of them seem to be right though. I just..."

Harry watched her eyebrows knit together as her sentence trailed off. Hermione didn't want to seem to finish her statement; she only continued to look at him. He didn't need to be asked; he had a feeling he knew what was coming.

"You'll be there with me, won't you? You'll stay for dinner tonight? Bring Ginny and your little one and-"

Harry prodded her thumb with his pinky.

"Of course. After work... I'll go with you."

* * *

Papers. Papers everywhere. Harry could swear he even started having nightmares about all these stupid papers. There were papers about muggings, attacks, the growing number of dark wizards..

His head drooped to one side, his torso following, as he knocked over a particularly large stack of papers. He shot up the moment it hit the carpet.

"Bloody hell," he cursed, waving his wand to put the papers back in place. He rubbed his eyes and caught sight of Ginny and Ron's sleeping forms. Their kids were already tucked in bed upstairs. Ron and Hermione had taken their child over for a play date, but ultimately decided to stay longer when they saw the amount of work Harry had laid out for him. The four had spent the night organizing and reading, but there was still work to be done. Sighing, Harry got up to place a blanket over his wife, kissing her cheek before taking his spot on the floor.

The scratching of a quill caught his attention and he noticed Hermione had not succumbed to sleep yet. Even in the dim candlelight, Harry could see the dark circles under her eyes, and he knew he had some to match. He felt a pang of guilt and immediately got up, only to sit back down at her side.

"Maybe we should call it a night," he suggested, staring at the parchment in her hands. "I can do all this tomorrow."

He knew the look of protest in her eyes, but she nodded and collapsed on the nearest sofa. Harry couldn't help but think of their third year at Hogwarts.

Back then and now, Hermione looked just as tired as Lupin had.

* * *

Harry balled his fists in his hair, silently screaming, and silently wishing he could chuck his desk out the window. He settled for slumping down angrily in his chair, hands behind his head, as he took deep, but shaking, breaths.

He couldn't believe this was happening again. It had happened so many times, he had lost count long ago. How could he and Ginny fight so much? And why were they even fighting? He knew he loved her, didn't he? Of course he did.

He found the absence of their children's pitter-patter on the hardwood floor disheartening – they were off at Hogwarts for the year – for it left him alone with his thoughts. Worse yet, without the noise, he could still hear the harsh echo of the words he and his wife had thrown at each other reverberating against the house walls.

Funny how they rarely fought when the kids were home for the holidays and summer.

He picked up an ink bottle and threw it against the wall. He watched as the glass shattered, the fragments catching light, and the black liquid staining the walls. Harry bolted to his feet, reaching for his wand on the table, with every intention to storm out of the house.

And then he heard it, whispers in his ear in a voice he knew all too well.

_Reckless._

Harry stopped, sat back down and cradled his head in his hands.

* * *

The four of them walked down Diagon Alley in the freshly fallen snow. They were here on a mission: find Christmas presents for the children.

"Maybe you should get them homework planners," chirped Hermione.

Harry only laughed. She did too, and the rest joined in. He watched the rise and fall of her shoulders from beneath Ron's arm.

His hand was cold as he held on to Ginny's.

* * *

Ron sat across from him at the kitchen table as Harry stared into his cup of tea. Ron's hair was a dishevelled mess and his arms were locked across his chest. They had spoken few words, and in all honesty, Harry didn't really know what to say to his best friend.

Harry heard the sound of padded footsteps coming down the stairs and saw Hermione poke her head into the kitchen. When she caught sight of him, she gave a little start. He could understand why, for it was far too early in the morning to have house guests.

"Harry.. good morning," she greeted.

"Morning." He noticed the glistening trail of tears running down her cheeks. He frowned.

Ron said nothing. Hermione made a move to turn away, but Harry spoke.

"Come on Hermione, come and have some food," he gestured to the plate of cold bacon and toast to his left. He saw her eyes dart towards Ron, and when he didn't move, her eyes began to water. Harry made a gesture to get up, but Hermione was already gone. He sighed.

"Can't you give her a break?" Harry asked Ron quietly.

"No," Ron responded flatly. Their eyes met. "Blimey... You know, she's hardly ever home anymore. Always working."

Harry understood. But he was sick of them fighting.

* * *

Harry sat at his dinner table directly across from Ron. The two were laughing, sharing Butterbeers, and watching their wives fuss over their children. Ginny was trying desperately to keep her kids from playing with exploding knick-knacks - most likely a gift from George - in the house while Hermione stood reprimanding her own for bickering and arguing.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the scene unfolding before him and Ron. Hermione and Ginny made for magnificent mothers; they really were.

And at least he could guarantee his children the childhood he had never had.

* * *

Harry sat in his cubicle, staring at the clock on the wall. Another shift working overtime. Another fight waiting for him at home. Another night wishing he knew how to fix things.

"You alright, Harry?" he looked up to see Hermione, looking just as haggard and exhausted as he felt. He knew she knew what his status was back at home; he had told her, after all, he could tell her almost anything. _I know she loves you,_ Hermione would say.

_Sometimes, I just want to leave,_ Harry would tell her some nights.

_Think of your family,_ she told him once. _Harry, you're so loved. So, so loved, _he swears he had heard his mother speak those exact words at the same moment Hermione had. The night he had heard her say this, he came home with a rose in his hand, a box of Bott's Every Flavour Beans for his kids, and an apology on his tongue. He was shaken from his reverie when a small cupcake – not burnt - with a single candle was held before his face.

"Happy birthday, Harry." He looked up at her, a small but sincere smile lighting up her features. He took the cupcake from her, noticing the slightly elevated skin on her forearm spelling _Mudblood_. When she noticed the direction of his gaze, she pulled her arm away. Harry laid a warm hand on it, concealing the wretched word, until she sat down next to him. He split the cupcake in half, but not before blowing out the candle and making a wish.

He wished desperately for her scar to be gone. Maybe he even wished his would vanish as well. He wished they were both unmarked.

* * *

That particular Christmas was a good one. Probably one of the best that Harry could remember. His friends and family were gathered in his living room, eating, laughing, drinking, talking. Harry even forgot about all the reports he had read, how dark they all seemed, how much they sounded like warnings, foreshadows.

He remembers ripping open presents, eating until his stomach felt ready to burst, laughing until he could no longer breathe. At the end of the night, he remembers Ginny falling asleep in his arms, the way he kisses her head. He remembers her bright red hair being the last thing he saw before dozing off himself.

That, and the image of Ron and Hermione in each other's arms, sleeping peacefully.

Both of them were smiling.

* * *

"He left, Harry. He just.. He.." Harry watched Hermione, sitting on her sofa, head buried in her hands and body racked with sobs. She looked as small as she did when Ron had left before, in their younger years. "We had a fight.. I..."

He let her cry.

When her sobs had quieted down, she got up off the sofa and walked towards him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've kept you here too long, haven't I?" Harry shook his head and wrapped his arms around her.

"He'll be back, Hermione. I promise," he said, kissing the top of her head. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if he should have promised her something like that. He didn't know whether it was right for him to promise something he had no control over.

He decided not to think about it too much. He flicked his wand in the direction of the radio lying in the corner of Hermione's living room. The pair spent the rest of the night dancing and playing Muggle board games.

That night, they felt just like children.

* * *

"Shall we walk?" Harry didn't know how she did it, reading his mind from such distances away.

"Yeah, sure."

And so they walked, and talked, and walked some more. They reached a pair of wrought iron gates with a war memorial some distance behind it. Harry pushed aside the gate with a mittened hand and offered an arm to Hermione. She linked arms with his.

As they loomed closer to the war memorial, it changed to something that Harry knew all too well: his parents' grave. He and Hermione sat in front of it in the snow, her resting against his shoulder, his cheek on her head. Like she had done so very long ago, Hermione had placed a small wreathe near the base of the stone bearing his parents' names. He squeezed Hermione's hand, feeling his own grow warmer. They stayed for a while, maybe even hours, until Harry could feel Hermione's head grow heavy at his side. He helped her to her feet and they walked back to his empty home.

She gave into sleep almost as fast as her body hit his sofa. He draped a blanket over her frame, feeling the exhaustion take over his mind as well. Harry stayed awake for a few minutes, going through his memories like pages from a book. Sometimes he wished he kept a Pensieve. In his age, he was starting to see his memories less clearly than he had before.

Watching Hermione sleep, Harry wondered if, in the end, he had chosen the right things in life. If he could go back, would he change things now? His thoughts were scattered; Reports, Ginny, choices, _her._

He would always need her. He had chosen differently in the end, but he would always need her.

Harry made a choice that night as he got up from his seat and tip-toed over to Hermione who was deep in slumber. Brushing the hair away from her face, he leaned in and brushed his lips softly against hers.

Yes, he would _always_ need her.

* * *

And there you have it! My attempt at writing some "charged" moments. I guess I wanted the character's actions to speak more for themselves rather than me _describing _what they felt and stuff.

I haven't decided how many chapters I ultimately want this to have; probably around 2-4.

Anyways, farewell! Constructive criticism is always welcome.


End file.
